Her Voice
by Laura Schiller
Summary: AU. What if Kes had found a way to control her powers and stay on board?
1. Chapter 1

Her Voice

By Laura Schiller

Based on _Star Trek: Voyager_

Copyright: Paramount

It was far too quiet for Seven of Nine now that Captain Janeway was gone. The last thing she could remember was crying herself to sleep in the older woman's arms, like the child she could not remember being, as her rage at being imprisoned finally gave way to despair.

She paced back and forth inside _Voyager's_ brig, trying and failing to ignore the terrible silence where the Collective had been. If she were given to metaphors, she might have said it was like a black hole, draining light and energy out of her, but the Borg considered metaphors irrelevant. All she knew was that it hurt, and it would not stop.

_Is anyone there?_ she called hopelessly, reaching out of habit for the chorus of voices that had been her home for so long. _Can you hear me?_

_I can hear you. Don't be afraid._

Seven stopped her pacing and froze, overwhelmed. The voice that spoke to her was only one, but it filled her with a sense of strength and harmony she had thought was lost for good. It was a beautiful voice, with a consciousness behind it that was both intelligent and kind.

_State your designation,_ she finally managed to answer.

_It's Kes. I'm the nurse who helped the Doctor operate on you. _

Seven connected the voice with her memory of waking up in Sickbay. Beside the EMH and the Captain, there had been a humanoid female – curly blond hair; blue eyes; red civilian clothing.

_That's me, _Kes confirmed.

_Species?_

_Ocampa._

_That species is unknown to the Collective. _Seven was intrigued; the first positive sensation she had felt in a long time, and a considerable relief. _Are you a telepath?_

_Maybe. My powers are still growing. _This came with a mixture of pride, fear and dizzy anticipation. _I also caused the explosion that knocked you unconscious while you were trying to contact the Borg. I had to do it, you see, to protect my crew._

There was an apology in her voice, but no remorse. Seven responded with a blast of fury that was the telepathic equivalent of a punch, but Kes's presence did not withdraw.

_If not for _your_ interference, this drone would have returned to the Collective by now!_

_If not for our interference, you'd be dead, _Kes retorted_. And for all your bravado, you don't really want that, do you?_

She took hold of Seven's memories and presented her with a solemn-eyed Janeway, informing her that she would die without medical care. Janeway, tentatively offering a picture of Annika Hansen. Janeway's restraining hold turning into a comforting embrace. And then another memory, decades old, of another woman holding her as she cried herself out. The softness of a red cashmere sweater. Mama had been beautiful in red …

_You wouldn't have that in the Collective,_ thought Kes.

_Stop manipulating my thoughts!_

_I'm not. Those last few images were all yours. Seven of Nine, please listen. You're lonely and in pain, and you've lost the only home and family you can remember. So did I, once._

The words "home" and "family", by themselves, would have sounded hopelessly inadequate to describe the irresistible harmony of the Collective. But the images sent by Kes – a pointy-eared man pruning a vine with gentle hands; a plain suite of rooms in an underground stone city; a white temple lit by torches and ringing with song – were imbued with so much love, so much regret, that even Seven understood exactly what she meant.

_I was a captive too, _Kes continued, sending the scorching heat of her planet's surface, the blinding sun, and the hard hands of her Kazon captors. _I wanted to see the sunlight, but they caught me as soon as I reached the surface. I hated them. I know exactly how you feel._

_Then you should understand why I cannot endure this._ Seven pressed her hand against the forcefield as long as she could endure, and screamed as she snatched it away.

_Captain Janeway rescued me,_ Kes replied._ Yes, the same Captain you hate so much. She gave my former mate and me a home, a livelihood, when we had nowhere else to go. She's not like the Kazon. She gave us opportunities to learn, to help, to become so much more … _

Kes and the EMH bending over a diagnostic screen. Kes mind-melding with Lieutenant Tuvok. A cheerful Talaxian, Kes' mate, presiding over _Voyager_'s mess hall, speaking up loudly in the briefing room, standing at Janeway's elbow on the bridge. Kes watering plants in an aeroponics bay. Kes and Janeway on a sofa, talking confidentially, a real smile on the captain's hard face. The telepath's love, a daughter's love for a strict but well-meaning mother, illuminated every corner of Seven's consciousness.

_She's not your enemy, Seven of Nine. She only wants to help. _

_She took away my freedom, _wailed a faint unhappy voice in Seven's mind. _My right to choose._

_She was protecting the rights of two hundred and fifty members of her crew. And if you stay here, you will earn those rights as well. Look at you, insisting on them already. How individualistc of you. _

For the first time, Kes' voice took on a note of gentle irony, more so because she knew she was correct. Seven's logic told her that she could not have it both ways; exercising her right to choose by returning to the Cllective to give it up was an untenable paradox.

_You and I are similar in some ways,_ thought Kes. _We're both in a state of flux right now. Half one thing, half another. Searching for perfection. _Wistfully, the telepath's thoughts turned to something Seven couldn't even comprehend, something that registered as an intolerably lovely web of light. _I've seen it, you know. A whole other level of reality, beyond the subatomic. It's the closest to perfection I've ever seen. But every time I reach it, I destabilize the molecules of everything around me, from my body to _Voyager_ itself. I don't want to put my crew in danger. I don't want them to be afraid of me._

Seven's state of rage, terror and loneliness had evidently struck a chord in Kes, even as she'd soothed the lost drone to the best of her ability. Seven sensed that the dark whirlpool gathering momentum in Kes' mind was no longer deliberate; that she did not mean to share her troubles, but simply couldn't help it.

_I love them – Neelix, the Captain, Tuvok, the Doctor, everyone – I didn't even realize how much. Caretaker help me – this drone, this girl, is suffering and I don't know how to help her. Alone. She's alone. If I leave, will I become like her? Is my selfish evolution worth that price? How can I give it up, the power and the beauty? But if I stay, how can I keep them safe? I don't want to be alone. I want to help, to heal … that's how my new powers started, didn't they, healing Seven of Nine? _

To her astonishment, Seven caught a glimpse of her own interior, of Kes disintegrating a Borg implant on a vital nerve with the force of her mind alone. Kes had saved her life.

_You should not abandon your Collective,_ thought Seven, startling Kes. _It may be small and limited, but it is better than nothing. Any telepathic or psychokinetic accomplishments, no matter how impressive, would be useless if performed in isolation._

_You're right. _Kes sounded surprised; she hadn't expected such insight from a Borg. She wandered through the corridors of Seven's mind with a new sense of focus, something almost respectful. _Your mind is so organized, _she thought enviously. _More than any I've ever contacted, including Tuvok's. Even those locked doors … don't worry, I'm not touching them. I just wish my mind could be as neat and efficient as yours._

_I could assimilate you if you wish, _Seven offered.

Kes's reaction was half fear, half amusement. _NO! Thank you, but no. I was thinking more along the lines of … how about this?_

Itwas a strange sensation. With her physical eyes, Seven could still see the wall beyond the force field, the bored-looking Security ensigns with their phasers, and the gray edges of the brig. In her mind's eye, however, where she was accustomed to receiving instructions from the Collective, was – an aeroponics bay.

It was a disaster area to make anybody cringe, let alone a Borg drone. The plants were rioting, spilling over their pots and climbing the shelves, growing roses the size of a humanoid head and oranges the size of melons. Insects and hummingbirds buzzed through the air. The air was heavy with perfumes and so humid you could practically see it. It was obviously the space of someone who cared for the beauty and fragrance of the plants too much to give them their necessary restraint. Efficiency, even ruthlessness, would be needed here, in order for the garden to be useful again.

In the middle of the room stood Kes, wrapped in an oversized apron with a blue-and-yellow Talaxian tie-dye pattern, holding a butterfly net in one hand and a pair of shears in the other.

_Guided meditation, _she explained. _As you see, I could really use some help right now. Think you're up to the challenge?_

_I am Borg, _Seven retorted, and set to work.

=/\=

The next morning, Kes approached the brig in person, accompanied by a rather nervous EMH Mark One.

"Hello, Seven of Nine," he said, nodding politely from the other side of the force field. "We, er, haven't been properly introduced."

This was an understatement, as her last encounter with him, when he'd admitted to removing some of her implants, had resulted in her screaming at him and needing to be sedated.

"I'm _Voyager_'s Chief Medical Officer. Just call me the Doctor. This is my assistant – "

"Kes," Seven finished along with him. "Are you … what is your status?" she asked awkwardly. The Borg were not accustomed to inquiring after each other's welfare, but she really did want to know. Were her powers under control? Was she likely to destabilize again? Had she retained her telepathy?

"I'm very well, thank you," Kes replied, smiling warmly. _And yes, I can still talk to you. _

The Doctor's eyebrows shot up almost to his nonexistent hairline as he glanced from one woman to the other. "You already met?"

"Seven here was kind enough to help me with … one of my projects yesterday," said Kes. "I think she'll do well on _Voyager,_ don't you?"

The Doctor shot them both another quizzical glance, perhaps wondering if "kind" was really the right word, but finally shrugged and smiled.

"If you say so, Kes," he said, deactivating the force field. "Let's get you scanned then, shall we?"

He stepped into the brig and circled her, tricorder in hand, without a trace of fear. There was even something positive in the gesture, like a salute or a wordless conversation. Whatever he was scanning evidently proved satisfactory, since he beamed as he shut the tricorder.

"Well! Between your human and Borg systems, it appears the human ones are winning," he said. "I'll need to extract a few more of your implants. And about that exoskeleton … well, it's a little cumbersome, isn't it? Hard to move around. Not to mention intimidating for the crew."

"That is irrelevant."

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe so … but as the Captain tells me you'll be joining the crew permanently, hadn't you better help to make the transition as easy as possible?"

"He's right," Kes chimed in. "It would be more … efficient."

"I'm thinking - dermoplastic." The Doctor began to gesture, circling her again as if she were a marble block and he a sculptor. "Like those patches on your arm, but thicker, more solid. Like a second skin. It would support your bone structure, cover your scars, and unless I miss my guess, you'd look rather fetching in it too."

He pulled a data padd out of his pocket and showed her a simulated image of herself wearing the garment in question. Seven surveyed it with indifference. _If you insist,_she was about to say, when Kes came to stand next to her and shook her curly head.

"Five-inch heels, back zipper and – is that a _corset_? Please tell me you're not making her wear this … "

"But you wear almost the same things!" the Doctor spluttered.

"_I_ am an unmated, four-year-old woman expecting my Elogium any day." Kes frowned at the neckline of her turquoise suit. "I know exactly what I'm doing when I choose my outfits. Seven doesn't. It will be hard enough for her to adjust without being stared at by every man she meets."

"Hmm … I suppose you're right." The Doctor took back the padd with a regretful frown. "I hadn't considered that … still, you must allow that after living in armor for eighteen years, we can't leave her body without some sort of external reinforcement. At least for now."

"All right." Kes sighed. "You can replicate the suit. But at least let her wear a light layer over it – shirt, pants, something ordinary. Something to help her fit in. And leave off the high heels, Doctor. They not only hurt, they're impractical."

"I defer to your expertise," said the Doctor, bowing playfully. "Seven, what do you think? Ready for a makeover?"

Seven considered the phrase "fit in" with profound skepticism. She doubted she would ever fit in with a crew of chaotic individuals. All the same, it would be … agreeable … to no longer be an outsider. To have a place and a purpose. These people's confident smiles, their concern for her comfort, even their little arguments were more welcome than she would ever admit. And, truth be told, she had already made her decision in the Captain's arms. If she had to stay here, she might as well put an effort into it.

"I will comply."

=/\=

In Sickbay, behind a privacy screen and in front of a full-length mirror, Seven surveyed her reflection with an uneasy mixture of approval and dismay. It could be worse. If she _had_ to lose the protection of her armor, grow a quantity of superfluous hair on her head, and wear these fragile bits of fabric, at least she was still clean and tidy.

"There," said Kes, carefully running a comb through Seven's new blond hair. "If we'd let it grow in naturally, it would have been itchy on your scalp for days. This is easier, don't you think? And just long enough to tie up, so it'll be out of your way. I can show you."

"Later, perhaps."

"So … what do you think?"

The Doctor's dermoplastic suit felt surprisingly similar to the exoskeleton she had lost: not exactly comfortable, but reassuring in its solid structure. Above it, she wore a soft, loose shirt and trousers, both in the same dark blue, and rubber-soled black shoes on her feet. Her hair, which had turned out to be blond like Kes', brushed her shoulders.

"My appearance is … adequate."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Kes?"

The Ocampa turned from admiring Seven's reflection to meeting her eyes directly, sensing a serious question.

_Why are you investing so much effort into me? I am a prisoner. I tried to assimilate your vessel. I have done nothing so far but to cause inconvenience to this crew …_

_You helped _me_,_ Kes replied, sending a brief image of the thriving, orderly aeroponics bay that was the source of her powers. _You may have saved my life. You're a part of this crew now, Seven. My people have a saying: what benefits one, benefits all. _

Seven was not familiar with the phrase "thank you", but the silent gratitude emanating from her mind was enough for Kes.

"Come on," she said, taking Seven's cybernetic hand to draw her out from behind the screen. "Let's show the Doctor."

As they emerged, the Doctor, who had been sitting at his desk bent over a padd, scrambled to his feet. He blinked several times, screwing his eyes shut, as if his visual subroutines were deceiving him somehow.

"Seven, you … you look … oh, Kes was right. The silver suit alone would have been a terrible idea."

"Clarify," said Seven.

The Doctor took a few hesitant steps in her direction, lifted his hand and lowered it again, keeping his bright hazel eyes on her all the while. It was not a physician's scan this time, nor an artist's appraisal, but something else altogether, something she did not understand.

"You'll be fine," he said softly. "More than fine."

He took another long look at her, turned around, and shut his office door behind him.

"That was _not_ a clarification," Seven complained. "What a peculiar hologram."

"He's just impressed with your new look, that's all," said Kes. "He thinks you're beautiful."

"Beauty is irrelevant."

"Then why are you blushing?" the Ocampa teased.

Seven placed a hand on her own cheek and was surprised by how warm it was. Social interaction was going to be much more of a challenge than she had anticipated.

At any rate, if she _had_ to navigate this minefield, making alliances would be to her advantage. So far she had Captain Janeway, Kes and the Doctor on her side. If she was careful, she'd never be alone again.


	2. Chapter 2

Patterns

_(AU for Episode 4.3, "Revulsion") _

"Kes, I'm in trouble," said Harry plaintively, dropping into a chair opposite her in the mess hall. He looked it, too: his hair was disheveled and his eyes shadowed, as if he hadn't slept all night.

"Anything I can do?"

"Not likely." He picked up his cup of Neelix's latest coffee substitute, took a long swig, shuddered, and leaned back in his seat, as if disgusting coffee were only to be expected after his latest run of trouble.

"Whatever you do, don't laugh. My good buddy Tom's done enough of that already."

"What is it, Harry?"

"Seven of Nine made a pass at me," he blurted out, blushing like a schoolboy.

"She did _what_?"

"Well, maybe 'pass' isn't the right word. More like steamrollered me. Look, all I did was ask her to watch the Ktarian moonrise simulation with me – hey, don't look like that. It was a friendly thing, y'know, to help her relax after all those double shifts. She - " he fidgeted in his seat, turning redder than ever. "She _ordered_ me to take off my clothes and have sex with her. As an experiment_._ And I came _this_ close to saying yes."

It took a lot of concentration for Kes not to laugh. Harry was her friend, and no matter how absurd his problem sounded, he deserved better than that.

"But you said no."

"Sort of. I was too embarrassed to get a sentence together, and she took that as a no. Thank God."

"Why is that?" she asked, just for the sake of argument. His emotions were in such a tangled mess – not that she was reading them, it was obvious from his behavior – that she felt compelled to help him sort them out.

"Hello!" He threw up his hands. "You know me, Kes. Do I seem like the experiment type to you? Intimacy isn't just some … some mechanical thing. Not like assimilation. It's more meaningful than that. You have to really know each other, trust each other … that's what's important. To me at least."

Kes was unexpectedly touched. She knew Harry wasn't a womanizer like Tom, but she'd never actually heard his view on relationships before.

"What you're describing takes maturity, though," she pointed out. "The ability to connect on a mental and emotional level, not just the physical. Seven … just doesn't have that maturity yet. She barely recognizes her own emotions, let alone those of others. She's like a child in some ways."

Harry rubbed his hands over his face in a gesture of exhaustion. "I know … I know. It's just not easy to remember, with her looking like … well, like she does."

Kes decided against telling him he was not the only crewmember with this problem. Seven had the good fortune – or the misfortune – of being a classic beauty by the standards of nearly every race on board; the only reason she wasn't surrounded by suitors yet was her Borg conditioning. It had been rather brave of Harry to approach her as much as he had, especially considering their first meeting, when she'd knocked him unconscious and sent a message to the Borg.

"And she's so _smart,_" Harry continued, in a tone of awe. "All that assimilated information inside her head … it would drive me nuts, but she just keeps it together. She's even got a sense of humor – the dry sort, like Tuvok's. And when she gave that fuel generator to the K'tati … after getting nothing from them but insults and threats … she was more human that day than some people who've been human all their lives. I'm crazy about her," he concluded ruefully. "And now I'll have to work with her on the Astrometrics project every day after making a complete fool of myself. I even asked Chakotay to change my schedule, but he wouldn't let me. Said we make a good team."

"Harry … " Kes put a comforting hand on his arm. "It's all right. She won't hold the incident against you, you know."

"You think so?"

"I know Seven as well as anyone can, at this stage. She's probably just as embarrassed about this as you are. The best thing you can do is be polite to her, like before. Show her you still respect her as a colleague. And leave off the Ktarian moonrises for now."

Harry smiled for the first time that day; a small, weary smile, but sincere nonetheless.

"When did you become a counselor, Kes?"

"Call it the wisdom of experience," she said lightly.

"That's right! You just turned four a couple months ago. That's positively middle-aged."

"To middle age," Kes declared, lifting her own coffee cup for a toast.

"So," Harry kept the smile on his face, determined to change the subject to something more cheerful. "Tom and B'Elanna, eh? It's about time."

"I'm so happy for them." She meant it from her heart, but something in her face or voice must have caused Harry concern, because his smile faded once again.

"Kes? You okay?"

"Oh, yes." Even as it came out of her mouth, she recognized the same tone of voice Harry used when he was lying. He could never fool her, and evidently she couldn't fool him either.

"C'mon," he said, his dark eyes softening with concern. "My turn, Counsellor. You can trust me. "

Kes cupped her hands around her coffee mug, searching for a way to say this without sounding petty or jealous. She'd had enough of jealousy while dating Neelix, though to be honest, she understood her former lover's behavior a little better now. She thought of the golden locket she still kept, of flying lessons on the holodeck and the kiss on the cheek she'd given Tom, once when he was injured. She thought of Tom's alternate future self, desperately reaching for her as she dematerialized; handing their newborn daughter into her arms; lovingly recounting the story he called _Tom and Kes: The Early Years_. A story that must never happen now. She couldn't live with herself if her happiness came at the expense of B'Elanna's death and Tom's heartbreak.

"I knew it wouldn't come to anything," she said. "It was always B'Elanna. I could sense it. I know he 'had a crush on me', in his words, but that's all it ever was. I could have gone to him after leaving Neelix – I almost did – but even then, I knew I'd come to regret it. I'd have bored him, Harry … no need to be polite about it, it's true. B'Elanna matches him for stubbornness and temper, she's just the challenge he needs."

Harry pressed his lips together, clearly resisting a kind-hearted protest that she could never bore anyone.

"I just miss our flying lessons," she confessed, a sad little laugh escaping before she could stop it.

Tom's bright face beside her, his hands dancing over the shuttle controls, his whoop of triumph after a successful slalom course through that tricky asteroid field … that was what had drawn her, she knew. His restless energy, his drive to push boundaries and explore the unknown; the same drive that had sent a one-year-old Ocampa girl slogging through half-collapsed tunnels just to see the sun.

"Maybe I have a weakness for adventurous men," she realized, thinking out loud, barely aware of Harry even as she addressed him. "Neelix, Zahir, Tom … they fly into my life and out again. I can never tie them down, and I don't even want to."

"Neelix, adventurous?" Harry peered skeptically over her shoulder, watching the Talaxian putter around the galley in his polka-dotted apron.

"He was, when we first met. He'd been to so many worlds as a trader, had such fascinating stories to tell … and he gave me his water bottle. That was all it took."

Harry, remembering the Kazon and their desert camp. A few moments on that gritty, glaring, bone-dry oven of a planet had been enough to make him understand just how precious a water bottle could be. She had never told any of the crew, even Neelix, exactly what her life had been in that camp, and they hadn't asked. She was never sure whether to be grateful for that or not.

"Maybe I've got a thing for aggressive women," Harry mused.

"Maybe."

"Libby wasn't, not really. But since I got to _Voyager_, there's been … let's see." He started ticking off names on his fingers. "Jenny Delaney, who pushed me out of a gondola. Marayna, who ignored me in favor of Tuvok and then tried to abduct him. Those literal man-eaters on Taresia. Lyndsay Ballard, who regularly drags me to the holodeck to run her ice skating program at ten degrees past freezing. And now … now it's Seven of Nine. I'm sensing a pattern here."

"Like my pattern when it comes to the high-flyers?"

"Right. So, basically, when it comes to romance … we're both screwed."

Smiling ruefully, the two friends clinked their cups together once again.

"I wonder what would happen if we broke those patterns somehow? Fell in love with someone completely different?" Harry, always the optimist, could not resist the speculation.

"If you find the right woman, let me know. I'll be the first to congratulate you."

He finished his drink, made the requisite face, and stood up with a friendly goodbye nod. She watched him cross the room to continue his work in Astrometrics, shoulders squared, head high, already bracing himself for a long day with Seven. What a good friend he was – kind; witty; loyal; reliable. Even if he had forgotten to comb his hair. Never mind; that fringe falling into his eyes was rather endearing. It was strange, really, for him to still be single after all these years … many people would count themselves lucky to have a mate like him.

_Someone completely different … _

An interesting hypothesis, as Tuvok or Seven would say, but one whose results were unpredictable. She should, and definitely would, proceed with caution.


End file.
